


Cassiopeia

by Flying_dandelions



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 13:46:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flying_dandelions/pseuds/Flying_dandelions
Summary: It starts with two people staring out at a world they’d used to own. One has his hand pressed against the window pane as if he could reach out and be able to touch the mountain ranges covered in a fresh layer of snow or the tops of the sickly sweet smelling pine trees. The other has her arms crossed because she knows that only heartbreak lies with the feeling of cold glass between her fingertips. Reaching will achieve nothing yet she uncrosses her arms and takes his free hand in hers intertwining their fingers with a squeeze. They may not be on solid ground anymore, their lives spent floating aimlessly through dark matter, but the two of them will always remain a scarred king and broken princess together even beyond the end of the earth.OrClarke makes it to space with the rest of the crew.





	Cassiopeia

_ Year One  _

It starts with two people staring out at a world they’d used to own. One has his hand pressed against the window pane as if he could reach out and be able to touch the mountain ranges covered in a fresh layer of snow or the tops of the sickly sweet smelling pine trees. The other has her arms crossed because she knows that only heartbreak lies with the feeling of cold glass between her fingertips. Reaching will achieve nothing yet she uncrosses her arms and takes his free hand in hers intertwining their fingers with a squeeze. They may be not be on solid ground anymore, their lives spent floating aimlessly through dark matter, but the two of them will always remain a scarred king and broken princess together even beyond the end of earth.

 

*

She finds him where she always does, in the small dormitory on the west side of the ship with the loose floorboard and the demons hiding between the worn clothes hanging in the closet. He’s sitting with his back resting against the wall and his knees pulled to his chest. He holds his breath until his lungs are on the verge of collapsing before taking a single shaky inhale. 

 

She sits down next to him. Gently knocking their shoulders together to let him know that she’s there. He doesn’t look up, she tries holding her breath but hanging onto every breath with the end of every avoli doesn’t give her the same relief it gives him. 

 

All he sees in this room is mistakes and a childhood built on fear and unfair responsibility. It stings like the chemicals they’d poured down his torso at Mount Weather to sit here and reminisce in the heartbreak but it also brings Octavia back to him. On the walls there are amauter drawings of Greek heroes in crayon from the times he’d read her stories to get her to go to sleep when their mother wouldn’t return for days on end. Or underneath the loose floorboard there was a scrap of her hair ribbon that had been torn off in a moment of haste. 

 

Clarke doesn’t let him sleep in here. She says that plaguing himself with nightmares harms the crew more than it harms himself. That’s her best form of seduction, making Bellamy care to live for the small group of people they had left to watch over. Like always he slips his hands in hers and let’s her guide towards his room like a mother leading a small child. She’ll squeeze his shoulders with words to heavy to roll of her tongue and he’ll kiss her forehead as his way of letting her know he’s going to keep on trying to live. 

 

*

 

It’s been four months and Monty’s attempts at making appetizing algae have failed, Bellamy’s beard has grown to an unattractive length, Murphy’s sarcasm is more condescending than anything, Echo has given up showering, Emori uses sex to pass the time and Clarke’s annual check ups have not gotten any less awkward than the first time around. 

 

“It’s official” Bellamy says plopping down on the edge of her bed with heavy limbs. 

 

“I have finally finished my plot to take out Murphy” 

 

She dog ears the weathered copy of  _ Ender’s Game _ which she has read at least six times since arriving on the Arke; spoiler alert the simulation was real and he kills them all. 

 

“Mine for Echo is still a work in progress, I’m thinking something involving using the hair she leaves in the drain to strangle her.” 

 

He chuckles and takes the book out of her hands before laying down next to her on the  _ very  _ tiny cot. His hair smells faintly of fresh soil and stale mint as he places his shaggy hair next to hers. The strands of their hair collide to form an abstract painting, sunshine yellow and obsidian black trying to merge as one. 

 

His calloused thumb slowly unfolds Clarke’s bookmark and his chest rumbles softly as he clears his throat. 

 

“ In the moment when I truly understand my enemy, understand him well enough to defeat him, then in that very moment I also love him. I think it’s impossible to really understand somebody, what they want, what they believe, and not love them the way they love themselves. And then, in that very moment when I love them.... I destroy them.” 

 

When Bellamy closes the book with a content thud, he looks down to find that Clarke has fallen asleep. Her eyelashes heavy and transparent, her mouth formed in a soft “o”, and her heartbeat permeating throughout the small corridor. 

 

Not long after, intoxicated by the warmth of the sleeping girl next to him and the lullaby of the oxygen machine humming along, Bellamy’s eyes flutter shut, it’s the best sleep he’s had since they had left earth behind in a cloud of rocket fuel and stardust. 

 

*

Their sixth month in space is remembered by the crew for being the month of breakups. It starts with Monty and Harper who were too threatened by life and by death to truly live in a honeymoon phase. They had to become vital to one another in an instance. Relationships tied to outer space cannot be lighthearted and carefree, they must be able to stand without solid ground and pure oxygen. 

 

It was a go-to-bed-early kind of night when it happened. Clarke had been braiding her hair with nimble fingers when her ears instantly registered the all too familiar sound of a scream. Relief and anguish filled Clarke when she realized that it was not out of pain but out of anger. She slipped into a long torn shirt and wandered out into the hallway, tapping on Bellamy’s door with their designated knock for when they needed backup. 

 

She found Harper first curled up in a fetal position, her eyes filled with thick tears. Clarke sank to her knees in front of her and took her head, pulling it into her chest. When Harper finally lifted her chin, the tear stained pattern on Clarke’s shirt reminded her of the first time she had ever stood outside in the middle of a rainstorm. 

 

“He’s just not the one.” 

 

Harper finally says quietly long after the timed lights had gone off for the night. 

 

“Not everyone you date has to be H.”

 

Clarke replies sitting at the desk besides Harper’s bed, toying with the dial on her father’s watch. 

 

“The world practically ended twice and I wanted to have fallen in love so badly by the time I died that I let that deep seeded desire lead me into a relationship I didn’t want.” 

 

“And now we’re trapped on this piece of shit for the next four and half years, with nowhere to run.” 

 

“You and Monty were friends long before you were lovers. We’ll all be fine. And H, when that space ship touches back down on the ground we’ll find you one hell of a soulmate to love until you’re old and grey”

 

*

Bellamy finds her letting the warmth of a hot cup of tea seep into her fingertips. 

 

“How’s Monty?”

 

“Heartbroken.”

 

“How’s Harper?”

 

“Heartbroken.”

 

He touches her shoulder as he passes and begins rummaging for something in the cupboard. Like a magician unveiling a white rabbit, he pulls out a bottle of old whiskey with mischief gleaming in his eyes. 

 

“I thought we might need this after the night we just had.”

 

He pours a sloosh into her teacup before taking the bottle directly between his lips and kicking back a gracious sip. 

 

“Have you ever been in love Bellamy Blake?”  She asks as the first lingering buzz of alcohol takes host in her mind. 

 

“Once or twice.”  

 

“You?”

 

“Three times.” 

 

“God the last time I was with my first love was in this very dining room. Her name was Poise and it was the sweet, pure true love that only teenager can experience. When I kissed her I found pieces of myself. I had to break it off when my mum was floated and they found Octavia. When it ended I discovered that she had left me a better person, a person who didn’t need that kind of love any more. Then there was Gina, who was the adult love story that was the mix of passion and responsibility. With her I knew that we didn’t need to be with each other every second but that I would always feel her with me. When she died her love motivated me to fight for a life, one that she wouldn’t get the chance to live.”

 

“I don’t know if I ever want to love again, Bellamy. After Sarah, Finn, and Lexa it feels like the world collapses around me everytime I breath the word love.” 

 

He shakes his head at her in disbelief. 

 

“You, Clarke Griffin, will find love again. And when the world falls down around you it will be because they ripped it at the seams to give to you. Because your love makes people whole, it is the kind of love people will move mountains to deserve.” 

 

*

“Okay friends you know the rules, we’ve only been playing this for eight months.” Raven claps her hands as she passes out tiny scraps of paper. 

 

It’s Charades night on the Ring and the observation deck is filled with tattered sofas and the hearty laughter of seven voices chiming in together. 

 

“Clarke and Bellamy, you’re up first.” 

 

Clarke stands with the gentle assistance of monumental from Bellamy’s hands on the square of her back, helping her get out of the small dip in the lumpy couch. 

 

She takes the paper from an old fedora they had found in the medbay. 

 

She huffs as though offended that the topic was too easy for her skill. 

 

All it takes is one second of Bellamy and Clarke staring into each others’ eyes and an eyebrow raised in teasing for Bellamy to mutter: “Romeo and Juliet.” 

 

“Hey no telepathy aloud.” Raven cries from the sidelines.

 

“It’s your fault that you let them be on the same team every single time.” Echo snears with a pointed glare. 

 

Clarke slinks back to the couch with a shit eating grin and is in such a good mood that she doesn’t even mind when Murphy makes fun of Bellamy for having his arm slung around her shoulders long after the excitement from victory fades. 

 

*

The first time Clarke finds one, she’s doing a routine check up on Emori. She’s reaching for a tongue depressor in the cabinet when her fingers stiffen at the presence of a stray piece of parchment that wasn’t in the cabinet yesterday. 

 

She shoves it in her pocket before continuing the examination with shaky hands. 

 

Once Emori has left with a clean bill of health, she carefully smooths out the paper on the table in front of her. 

 

_ Once many years ago, on a planet without life or death, there lived a girl who wanted to drink the stars. She set out to have a milkshake of cassiopeia and to have a slurp of the great Leo with nothing in her heart but a piece of charcoal and a boy with a gun. The boy was reckless with bullets for teeth and arrogance for armor but he wouldn’t accept the fact that she wanted to be dangerous too.  Whenever she got close to finishing the drawing of a black hole he would take his thumb and smudge her work until it was blurry. All he had ever wanted was to take care of another girl one with obsidian hair, but when this one stumbled upon him with the world on her shoulders, he realized that he would save her from the loneliness of space. So he stood on her right and on her left and would always smear her drawings with fear. Until one day she convinced him that if she would go to space he could come with her. And here they are.  _

 

*

Clarke had complained of a lack of new literature to Bellamy as they had been washing pots one night and every week after that she would find a new story hidden somewhere in plain sight. Sometimes they were about her, sometimes about him, sometimes about the people they’d never become. He holds her when she sobs through reading the one where the children of Mount Weather run barefoot on grass that isn’t tainted by blood or radiation. He asks her whether or not he should stop writing them after that, she shakes her head and latches onto him harder. 

 

A chuckle escapes Bellamy’s lips when a day later he finds a drawing of Murphy with devil horns shaded on, pinned onto his headboard. 

 

*

“I’m taking my day off.” 

 

Bellamy calls through the shower curtain, knowing that Clarke is standing there with her hands on her hips. 

 

“There is no such thing as a day off when you’re part of the space seven Blake, get to work or get off my damn ship.” 

 

Before she can dramatically storm off and prove her point by slamming the door, he scoops a handful of water and tosses it onto her. Her short frame turns rigid and the steam coming from her ears is almost visible. 

 

She turns on the ball of her foot and the wind whips with her, hitting him like a tornado. 

 

“Now you’ve asked for it.”

 

Clarke gives him a smile that puts him in respiratory arrest before flushing the toilet without hesitance. 

 

When the scalding hot water comes raining down on him like the wrath of God, he takes it with grace because he can hear her laughing her ass off all the way down the hallway and only that sound can make burning feel like flying. 

 

*

Murphy and Emori are next list of relationships that struggle with withstanding the trials of space. Their fight is more like multiple battles in a long war. Plates and bowls go flying as they try to prove their point by seeing who can yell it later. 

 

Emori doesn’t want to have an emotional talk with Clarke like Harper, she simply huffs every time Clarke comes towards her with a look of empathy.

 

Murphy takes to flirting with Echo and skipping out on his shifts. 

 

By the third week of having to cover Murphy’s responsibilities Raven locks both of them in the dining hall until they “figure their shit out.”

 

“I don’t know what you were thinking Ray, they’ll never forgive themselves if they actually hurt one another.” Clarke cries when she discovers why it sounded as though bombs were berating the Arke. 

 

Another pan goes flying as Clarke digs for the key to the hall. 

 

She swings the double doors open to find a shower of glass raining down on her. She falls with the broken ceiling light. The crisp grey of the metal floors begins to rust with the appearance of Clarke’s blood.

 

“Dibs on not telling Bellamy.” Echo claims slowly retreating to her dormitory. 

 

*

“It’s a superficial cut Bellamy,”

 

Clarke sighs as he turned her palm over and over again checking for the lasting impact of the glass. 

 

“I’m going to kill them, for real this time.”

 

He muttered under his breath as he pulled the examination light closer. 

 

“It looks worse than it feels.” She lies with the intention of soothing his hurricane mind. 

 

“I’m going to give you a scar if I attempt to close this up with my uncoordinated hands.”  

 

She tries something foreign, nothing she’d ever thought about ever translating into real action. 

 

She runs her hands through his wild mane of hair, pulling his face closer by the roots of his being. 

 

They’re breathing in the same breath of air by the time she can count the thousands of freckles spanning the bridge of his nose. 

 

“What’s one more scar for us huh?” 

 

She can see all he’s thinking reflected off the back of his retina, it’s something primal, raw, and dangerous. When had their thoughts ever strayed from those three principal ideals? 

 

His breath hitches as he threads the needle and takes her hand with fairy wing gentleness. 

 

His brows are scrunched in determination and he shakes off her words as his eyes narrow. 

 

He doesn’t stop when she meows in pain at the tug of the thread and keeps his head down when his hand becomes wet with the patter of her silent tears falling down her face. 

When he finishes their eyes meet before he tackles her into an oxygen stealing hug. Gravity pushes his ribs into hers and she tries desperately to thread her fingers together at the base of his spine. 

 

“I promised myself that I made it through that, I wouldn’t ever let you go.”

 

He admits. 

 

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I’ve always hurt others, it comes with the description of being a good leader. I’ve brought death and pain for the life and pleasure of the ones I loved. But never have I had to hurt you Clarke Griffin. My entire existence on earth was for the sole purpose of making sure you were invincible, every nightmare that’s ever plagued me has been about your screams. Now look what I’ve done to you.”

 

He gestures to the tears that refused to evaporate off the examination table. 

 

“Bellamy Blake, when will you learn? You’re the only person who’s never hurt me.”

 

She protests when he scoops her up into his arms like gravity is a mere rule to be broken, but eventually surrenders when he raises his eyebrows at her. 

 

When he lays her down on her bed one vertebrae at time she turns to him in her almost drunken state of exhaustion. 

 

“Never let me go Bellamy.”

 

He nods briskly before shutting off the light on her desk and leaves her to bask alone in the darkness. 

 

*

“I have to thank you Clarke. You getting injured made John and I sit down and talk about how destructive our relationship is, it made us realize we want to change. We want to be healthy and practice more communication. It made us realize we want to stay together despite our problems.”

 

Emori says as Clarke sits down at the end of the the dining table. 

 

Clarke waves her bandaged hand.

 

“Glad this bad boy didn’t happen in vain.”

 

Murphy looks up at Clarke shyly, a question hangs in the silence. 

 

He speaks.

 

“Hey Griffin, any chance you could let Bellamy know that? So he might actually talk to me again.”

 

Clarke tugs the inside of her cheek between her teeth in hesitation. 

 

“I’ve tried. But I’ve never gotten away with telling him how to feel, this time is no different. He’s pretty torn up about it.” 

 

Murphy sighs and continues pushing his alage around his plate without direction. 

 

Emori soothingly rubs his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him. 

 

“Knowing Blake, he’ll probably want you to make it up to Clarke in some big grand gesture. He’s not the one you need to apologize too.” 

 

Raven says sipping her coffee casually.

 

“Clarke’s already forgiven us.”

 

“Yeah but she’s mom, moms have to forgive us no matter what we do. She’d forgive me for stabbing her in the gut. The way Bellamy sees it, you need to earn her apology, because she’d give it to you no matter what.”

 

Monty points out, turning his head to Clarke to check if he’s on the right track.

 

She nods once in agreement. 

 

“Fine, grand gesture it is.” 

 

Murphy mumbles in defeat. 

 

*

The grand gesture comes on the anniversary of their first day back in space. One year floating, one year fighting, one year loving, one year laughing, one year mourning, one year trying to do more than just exist, one year becoming a family. 

 

Bellamy’s walking Clarke back to her room after a particularly long shift at the algae farm when she notices that her door is sitting ajar. 

 

“Echo.”

 

Clarke growls under her breath, remembering the multiple occasions the Azgeda girl had gone into Clarke’s room to steal clean shirts when she had been too lazy to wash her own. 

 

Bellamy chuckles lightly and pats Clarke’s shoulder in comradery before veering off to his room. 

 

Clarke is prepared to give Echo another riveting speech about personal responsibility and in her case personal hygiene when the words are taken out her mouth by the sheer and utter shock of what is in front of her. 

 

Hanging on the wall above her cot is a piece of metal that holds a charcoal sketch she’d drawn when she was in solitary confinement all of those years ago. It’s an etching of a mountain range just as the morning fog settles right over the tree line. Clarke clutches her heart in remembrance of what she had felt the first time she had inhaled the fresh scent of pine needles brushing against her fingertips. 

 

Hours later when Bellamy comes in to walk her to dinner, he finds her sitting criss cross in front of the drawing. 

 

The look of complete serenity and jubilence on Clarke’s face, stirs a deep warmth inside Bellamy, a feeling that he had long forgotten. 

 

“I guess this means I’m forgiving Murphy tonight.” He sighs, sitting down next to her. 

 

She nods, blinking through joyous tears. 

 

“I miss Earth, Bellamy. On days like this, when there was no war and nothing to fix, at least I could go climb a mountain and feel as though I accomplished something. Up here I’m consumed by a restlessness that can’t be quenched by reading another book or winning another hand of Blackjack. It’s been a year now and I still ache to dip my toes in the bank of a shallow stream if just for a moment and remember that I’m living for something.”

 

“You don’t win Blackjack enough to complain about being victorious too much.” 

 

Clarke hits him playfully. 

 

“Jerk.” She mutters, wiping the tears caught in her eyelashes. 

 

“See you aren’t missing much, I’m still here to keep your ego in check no matter if you’re standing in some stream or sitting on a space station. God Clarke I thought you’d be more appreciative.” 

 

She rests her head in the crevice between his shoulder and head. 

 

“You are as much home to me as Earth, Bellamy Blake.”

 

“Good. Now since we got that cleared up, can we stop moping around and get some food in our stomach so we can be reminded of how much we hate space all over again when Monty’s alage settles?”

 

*

That night, all eight of them sat around a table with tin cups raised to surviving a year drinking their recycled piss and living through all four air breaches. They toasted to Monty’s socks always being left in the crevious of their sofa and drank to Bellamy’s chore list that always ended up having a dick drawn somewhere on it. Raven and Emori sang some sailor's song standing on their chairs. Murphy attempted to only speak in Pig Latin. Harper and Echo did Kane impressions with a drawn on sharpie beards. Bellamy slowly turned Clarke under the arch their intertwined hands had made, when he was supposedly showing her a dance he and Octavia had made up when they were young. 

 

Everything for that one night was close to perfect, everyone had let go of the suffocating breath they had been holding for those twelve long months. They forgot they were stranded and remembered that they had one another. They were all so consumed in the feeling of momentary happiness that they didn’t notice the ship that had come out from behind the shadow of the sun, and had began to creep closer. 


End file.
